Midnight Conversations
by Undeniably Pissed
Summary: It’s midnight, and two unknown figures converse under the cover of the dark.


**Midnight Conversations**

_It's midnight, and two unknown figures converse under the cover of the dark._

"You still love her." He said quietly. It wasn't a question. It had been spoken so silently, as if conversing with the wind. He hadn't meant for the other to hear, but he did and he stood to stand beside the speaker. The moment he heard, he knew he had to do something, anything. To defend himself? Perhaps. To make the other understand? Yes. That was it.

He was facing him now. And the two of them were silent as they locked gazes. Pale hands grasped the soft skin of the other's neck, fingernails pressing down hard enough to break skin. One's eyes were narrowed; benevolent and betrayed. The other, unsure; in pain and enamored. But far from in love.

"Yes, I do." He did. He truly, really did. And yet he was here. That really didn't match his answer. He was still lost in trying to figure that out. Here he was, after all, standing in the other boy's room, sleeping in the other boy's bed, while blanketed by the other boy's warmth. He didn't understand why he kept coming here. But the fact of the matter was that he did. And the words _why why why_ echoed in his head like a mind-eating mantra, bent on destroying what was left of his sanity.

The grip on his neck tightened at his answer, and he gasped. He didn't struggle. He couldn't find the strength to do so, seeing the pain, hurt, confusion, and jealousy in what he had always thought were cold and unexpressive eyes.

"Why…? Why do you come here Tamaki?!" The boy said, throwing the blonde into the bed and straddling the other's hips. He pinned Tamaki's wrists over his head with a single hand and growled into the boy's face. "Do you think this is funny? That this is a game we're playing? I'm sick and tired of you playing innocent! I know as much as you do that you still have feelings for her. Why the damned hell are you HERE?"

Two bare chests rose up and down heavily, one heart beating in rage, the other in fear. For a long moment, they stared each other, searching for answers in their eyes full of questions.

"Kyouya…"

He released him and stood by the double glass doors that led to the veranda. There were cameras just outside these doors. He didn't like having his privacy invaded, so he always had the view of his room obscured by heavy silk curtains. He couldn't sleep with the light on during the night, so he settled for sleeping in the dark.

He couldn't remember when Tamaki first came over. It was so long ago that neither of them bothered remembering. But ever since then, when he woke up in the middle of the night with Tamaki in his arms, he would see the moonlight peeking through the curtains. He would go over to the double doors and look at it. The only source of light in his room. He knew it had been Tamaki's doing, pulling the curtains ever so slightly for the moonlight. He hadn't known why Tamaki couldn't sleep when it was dark. When Tamaki fell asleep before he did, he found himself walking to those curtains and pulling it apart approximately an inch wide. For Tamaki.

He had been the one to pull the curtains apart tonight. Kyouya didn't know why he felt like lamenting over this. But he was doing so now, and he couldn't stop, his train of thought was now on the curtain, on the moonlight, and on Tamaki.

Tamaki was still seated on his bed. And the blonde was looking down at his lap as if he was about to cry. Kyouya was not exactly the best person you want with you when you need a crying shoulder. And all he could do was watch as the first few tears slid out of Tamaki's eyes. They were a disturbing sight to him. Tears always had been. Especially on Tamaki

"I will always love her," Tamaki sobbed as he buried his face in his hands and cried away his misery, frustration, and pain. Because as much as he loved her, everyone knew that Haruhi was long gone. She had long passed away. And the dead were not to be resurrected, not even by the tears that Tamaki shed everyday.

Kyouya looked out of the inch-wide opening, half of his body bathing in the moonlight while his other half hid in the darkness. He could see cultivated trees outside, a dirty cement cross rising over the buildings, the star, the moon, and lone birds journeying on the night sky. He was looking outside, this world that was alienated from his room where everything he had ever dreamed of continued to become his reality…

It feels so real when they're not pretending; when they're not fumbling for each other in the near-darkness, kissing and needing and lusting and _oh_-

Kyouya shut his eyes tight and opened them again. This was his entire fault. He knew Tamaki was hurt and vulnerable, and yet he let him in, thinking that maybe, just _maybe… _Tamaki would somehow forget.

Kyouya grabbed a hold of the curtains and pulled. He was still pulling hard against the fabric, even as the last sliver of light disappeared and he could see nothing. Only Tamaki's sobs helped him reach the bed. He climbed in steadily, pulling Tamaki into his arms as the other boy fell into his grasp, sobbing.

"Shh… sleep Tamaki," Kyouya said quietly.

He was selfish. He worked for his personal gain. He hid his feelings. He was powerful. He was untouchable. He had pride.

And soon, he was about to throw it all away for Tamaki.

When Kyouya awoke, he didn't find Tamaki in his room. He never did. Tamaki never stayed longer than just that night. He pulled himself into a sitting position and sighed. There was no use asking Tamaki to stay. For what, after all? In the cover of the night, it was easy to pretend that it doesn't matter. They couldn't see each other well enough for it to register full force in their brains, especially when their mind was clouded with pervasive thoughts of pleasure. No one sees, no one hears, and they have lost all inhibitions. But in broad daylight, that was another thing.

Kyouya turned to move towards the curtains. It had been pulled apart again, and a little wider than usual. Kyouya had thought that Tamaki had fallen asleep first, but it seems that this wasn't the case. He made to shut the curtains when a figure caught his eye. The dirty cement cross. He pulled the curtains apart a little more, until the silk sheets had fallen to the floor and he was hurriedly stepping outside.

How could he have missed it? He wanted to tear himself to pieces or jump out of the veranda. Either option would certainly hurt less than this!

The dirty cement cross that rose over the shabby buildings marked the local cemetery. The one where Haruhi Fujioka had been laid to rest. And Kyouya's veranda had the perfect view to its gates.

_Author's Notes_

_I just had this impulse to write angst, and here it is. Kyouya and Tamaki after Haruhi's death. I don't know whom I pity more. ::cries:: This is the first time I wrote like this. There's a great lack of coherence about who's who in the first few paragraphs, and that was intentional. Who did you guys thinks it was before I revealed it, honestly?_


End file.
